


A Time To Cast Away Stones

by TheRiverScribe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gabriel Monthly Challenge, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mark of Cain, Rewriting Rev Y1K Challenge, Time Travel Fix-It, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11913885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRiverScribe/pseuds/TheRiverScribe
Summary: The healing Gadreel had begun during his unwelcome tenure in Sam’s body had slowly unraveled in the weeks since the angel’s forced ejection.  Castiel’s own borrowed grace dwindled in strength with each passing day.  And Dean?  Dean had the Mark of Cain, which seemed to lend the bearer power at the cost of their humanity.They were all running out of time.





	A Time To Cast Away Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Rewriting Rev Y1K Challenge Prompt:  
> “This is not a courtroom, there are no grounds for objections here.” (@revwinchester)
> 
> Gabriel Monthly Challenge Prompts:  
> “All that bravado, all those witty comebacks…Just to hide how terrified you really are.”  
> “My life consists of bad puns and candy.”  
> Gif of Gabriel, shifts between him looking a sad-wet-puppy in color to a dark-fierce-archangel in bk/wt with stylized golden halo

“If you do this, Sam, you may never return.”  Castiel’s warning came out as a plea.  “There is no guarantee he will help us.  And I do not have the power to bring you back.”

“I know, Cas,” Sam repeated.  Exhaustion made his body and voice shake, but the hunter remained determined.  He pushed limp, greasy hair away from his face, and closed his eyes against the building headache. 

The spell itself was surprisingly simple—gathering its necessary components had been much harder.  Castiel’s waning grace and burnt wings meant he couldn’t fly.  They spent three weeks driving around the country to beg-borrow-steal the few ingredients not already in the bunker’s store rooms. 

For most of those three weeks, Sam and Castiel debated the finer details of their plan.  They agreed on who to seek out, but not the _when._   And once they agreed on the _when_ , they fought again about who should go. 

Sam stayed adamant—he had the history with this person and stood the best chance at convincing him to help.  Castiel didn’t think he should go alone.  In the end, Sam won, arguing that Dean would need one of them to remain in case it didn’t work.

“Time-travel alone is dangerous,” Castiel continued, “but what you are proposing is nearing suicide!  It may not be possible to change our current time-line.  You may only succeed at creating an alternate path where things happen differently, leaving those of us _here_ unchanged except for the loss of _you_!”

“I know, Cas.”

“I am not willing to lose you, Sam!” Castiel yelled, his frustration finally breaking through the calm he’d maintained for so long. 

“I have to try,” Sam whispered.  He didn’t have the energy to argue. 

The healing Gadreel had begun during his unwelcome tenure in Sam’s body had slowly unraveled in the weeks since the angel’s forced ejection.  Castiel’s own borrowed grace dwindled in strength with each passing day.  And Dean?  Dean had the Mark of Cain, which seemed to lend the bearer power at the cost of their humanity.

They were all running out of time.

“I have to do this,” Sam said, opening weary eyes to stare down his best friend, “before it’s too late.”

Castiel convinced Sam to wait another day, but that was all.  He forced the man to sleep, pointing out that it would accomplish nothing if Sam arrived at his destination only to collapse.  The angel spent the night keeping watch over his friend.  He didn’t bother praying.

At dawn, Sam strapped his pack to his back.  Castiel gave him a hug, hoping it wasn’t the last time they saw each other.  Sam gave him a thick white envelope, hoping it never needed to be opened.  Castiel tucked it away inside his trench coat.

“Only give it to him if I’m not back…”

“…in one month,” Castiel finished for him.  “I know.  Sam—”

The hunter forced a smile and pulled away.  “Wish me luck, Cas.”

“Good luck, Sam.”

They did the spell.  The portal opened, and Sam stepped through.  When it closed, Castiel was alone.

* * *

Sam blinked at the harsh morning sun that greeted him on the other side.  As his eyes adjusted, he found the familiar sights of the one place he swore he’d never return to again.  He knew every square inch of the sleepy little town.  Knew the names and faces of everyone living there, all their routine and secrets.  Not even centuries in the Cage could erase the details.

He walked down the sidewalk, heart racing high in his chest.  A newspaper stand confirmed what he already knew.  It’s Tuesday, the twelfth of August, in the year 2008.  Exactly six months after an eternity of Tuesdays in Broward County.

Checking his watch, Sam picked up the pace.  His memory of those months between the time-loop and confronting the Trickster was slightly hazy.  This was the day he’d returned after the call from “Bobby,” but Sam needed to be in place before that happened. 

The plan was to knock out his past-self and take his place.  If it worked, then the confrontation would happen very differently.  If it didn’t work—then, nothing mattered anyway.

Sam found the Mystery Spot empty.  Without knowing how early Gabriel arrived in the form of Bobby, Sam had to act fast.  He laid out his preparations, hoping they wouldn’t be noticed, then waited outside.

Several hours passed before Bobby’s old truck pulled up.  Even knowing it was an illusion, Sam’s throat tightened at the sight of the man.  He held his breath, and tried to _not_ pray that the Enochian warding on his ribs would keep him off the archangel’s radar.  Prayers would only blow his cover.

Sam’s body ached from staying still for so long, but he resisted the urge to stretch.  Too much was riding on this moment.  If he lost it all to a muscle cramp, he’d never forgive himself.

His patience was rewarded two hours later when he heard the roar of the Impala’s engine.  Sam watched his past-self climb out of the car, face set in stony determination.  But even after six months of solitary hunting, the man still looked like a boy compared to the face Sam saw in the mirror. 

He pulled the tranquilizer gun from his pack, quickly neutralizing the newcomer.  Sam stood, allowing only a second to finally stretch his muscles before hiding the unconscious body in the back seat of the Impala.  It took a few minutes, and he was grateful the Mystery Spot had limited lighting.

Taking a deep breath, Sam picked up his bag and went inside.

Gabriel was kneeling in the center of a chalk circle, pretending to study the pages of a magic book.  Spell ingredients, split between several bowls, decorated the scene.  He looked up when Sam entered.

Genuine surprise flashed in the archangel’s eyes before he resumed his role.  “It’s good to see you, boy,” he said in Bobby’s gruff voice.  He stood, wrapping Sam in a hug.

Sam remembered not returning the embrace.  Remembered standing there feeling nothing but the cold anger that smothered his burning fear.  _Heat of the Moment_ _indeed_ , he thought as his arms came up of their own volition.  He felt Gabriel stiffen.  “Bobby,” Sam whispered, not expecting the rush of emotion that left him rapidly blinking. 

Gabriel pulled back to study Sam’s face.  “You look awful,” he said.

Sam huffed a laugh, which led to a cough.  It rattled loudly in his chest, and he took a step back.  “Yeah, well, it’s been a rough few months,” he replied, honestly.  _Understatement of the millennium._

“You shoulda come home, Sam.  You didn’t have to be alone—not when there’s folks like me that care about ya.”

Sam turned away and walked further into the Mystery Spot.  He heard Gabriel follow in Bobby’s clunky boots.   Pushing aside the knowledge that the real Bobby was only a couple days’ drive away, Sam forced his tired mind to focus.  There was no room for error.

“Do you?”  Sam asked casually as he got into place.

“Do I what?”

“Care about me?”

“Where did that come from?”  Bobby’s face frowned, confusion etched into each wrinkle. 

“Answer the question.”  Sam wished he could yell, but his lungs barely worked as-is.  He settled for quiet intensity.

“Of course I do!”

“Then why are you doing this?” he asked the archangel behind the mask.

“Doing what?!”  Gabriel’s own astonishment at the bizarre line of questioning contorted Bobby’s face all wrong.  “Helping you find the Trickster that killed your brother?”

“No,” Sam said, flicking the lighter he’d kept in his hand, “why are you helping me at all?”  He threw the lighter down, igniting the ring of holy oil he’d poured out earlier. 

Bobby’s eyes went wide with fear as he watched the flames form around him.  “What is this?  What do you think you’re doing?”

“Drop the act,” Sam sank wearily into a chair, “please.  I-I can’t talk to you with that face anymore.”

Bobby’s head tilted in a familiar way before melting away to reveal Gabriel’s shorter vessel.  The firelight danced in his eyes as he smiled.  He slow-clapped, walking carefully around the inside of the circle.

“How did you know?” Gabriel asked.  “I mean, my impression was pretty flawless if I do say so myself—and I do.  So, what gave it away?  Too gruff on the phone?”

“Please, stop,” Sam sighed.  For all he remembered, he’d forgotten how exhausting the Trickster persona could be.

“And did you think this would make bring back your brother?  ‘Cause I got news for you, kiddo—Dean’s gone.  He’s downstairs doing the hellfire rumba as we speak.  Didn’t you get the flowers my girl sent you?  What are you trying to accomplish here?”

“I do need your help,” Sam answered honestly, “and it does involve my brother.”

“For reals, though,” Gabriel ignored Sam’s reply as he stopped walking and gestured toward the flames, “you obviously realized something pretty early to beat me here and do this crazy set-up.  And why fire?  Where’s that in the lore?”

“You’re right.  It’s not in the lore…for Tricksters.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and the gold light that flashed within had nothing to do with the flames.  Sam fought the urge to shrink in on himself.  Then, the mask fell back into place with a dangerous grin.  “You know, kid, this stopped being fun a long time ago.  I thought I’d be nice—give you a few extra months with your brother and teach you a lesson in the process.  But now?”  He gave a long, low whistle.

“‘Now’ what?” Sam challenged.  “Now you torture me?  Kill me?  Give me my ‘just desserts?’”

“All of the above,” Gabriel snapped.

“Go ahead,” Sam snorted.  “But first, you have to reach me.”

“What?”

“Come on.  Prove me wrong and cross the fire—it isn’t even high.  Surely, a Trickster god could step over six-inch flames.” 

Gabriel shook with rage.  His arms fell to his side, fists clenched.  The mask slipped, but he remained silent.

“I’m well aware that holy fire does nothing to Tricksters,” Sam stared at him, willing the archangel to reveal himself.  “But it’s the best way to trap an angel if you need to talk to them.”

The hair raised on Sam’s arms as power built in the room.  Gabriel gave a hollow laugh.  “You callin’ me an angel, sweetcheeks?  ‘Cause that would be hilarious.  And a first.”

“How about I just call you by your name?”

“Oh, please do!  I have so many,” Gabriel taunted, his smile turning cruel.  “Which one will you call out as—”

“Gabriel,” Sam cut him off with barely a whisper.

The holy fire flared higher as glass bulbs shattered around them.  Grace surged through the room, pouring off the trapped archangel.  Sam flinched back, wrapping his arms around his torso.  Gabriel might not be Lucifer, but it would be a mistake to think he wasn’t still a threat.   

“How?” Gabriel growled.

“How did I know you’re an angel?”

“How do you know about angels at all?”

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “The same way I know my brother isn’t actually in Hell.  Because when he dies, he doesn’t last six months.  He lasts four.”

Gabriel blinked, bewilderment momentarily replacing his anger.  “What are you talking about?  How could you…”

“The same way I know that you ran from Heaven because you couldn’t stand to see your family torn apart.  You became the Trickster instead, handing out justice while living a life that consists of bad puns and candy. All that bravado, all those witty comebacks?  Just to hide how terrified you really are,” Sam stood and started pacing, unable to remain still, “And I know why you're terrified.  The same way I know that this whole shit-show was your attempt to keep me from traveling down a darker road when he does go.  But your plan fails!  Do you hear me?  All of you plans fail—except for one.”

“Which one?” Gabriel asked quietly.

Sam sank back into the chair, his legs shaking too much to keep standing.  “Your very last plan.  You gave it to us right before you were killed.”

“Killed?” Gabriel scoffed in disbelief.  “You know I’m a master at faking my own death, right?’

“Lucifer kills you,” Sam took a ragged breath, willing his voice to remain steady.  “I-I went back to…I saw your wings scorched across the ground.”

The archangel’s rage evaporated, leaving him pale and trembling.  “I’m…dead?”  He sounded like he didn’t understand the meaning of his own words. 

“Yeah.  Sorry,” Sam said, feeling a sudden wave of empathy for the sad little archangel.

Gabriel’s eyes sharpened.  “So, I’m dead.  And you traveled here from the future?  Why?  To bring me back to help with the Apocalypse?”

“Which one?” Sam chuckled, then waved off whatever retort Gabriel was about to give.  “No, we stopped that Apocalypse a few years ago.  There’s a bigger—”

“I’m sorry, did you just say you stopped it?” Gabriel interrupted.  “You stopped the divine plan for the end of the world?  The plan that had been in place since long before I left Heaven?  You?”

“We had a little help, but,” Sam looked away, “yes.  Me.”

“How?” Gabriel demanded.

“That’s not imp—”

“How?!” 

Sam rubbed his eyes.  “The plan you gave us—it told us how to operate the horsemen’s rings to reopen the Cage.”

“What did you do?”

“We opened—”

“No.  What did _you_ do?”  Gabriel tilted his head, studying the hunter.  “You’re different.  Older—and not just by a few years.”  His eyes flashed brighter for a second, and the archangel gasped.  “What…what happened to you?”

Sam shrugged.  “I had to get Lucifer in the Cage somehow.”

“Sam…”

“I said ‘yes.’  And while he was using my hands to beat my brother to death, I regained control, grabbed Michael, and threw us all into the Cage.  But that’s not why I’m here…”

“How long?”

“Gabriel, really, it doesn’t mat—”

The archangel took a small step forward.  “Sam, how long?”

“Castiel got my body out pretty quickly, but,” his arms tightened around his chest at the memory, “my soul was there almost two hundred years.  Death himself pulled it from the Cage.  It was touch-and-go for a while, but I’m better now.”

“You really aren’t, kiddo.”  Gabriel sighed heavily, suddenly looking his age.  “How about you let me out of this and we can talk?”

“Maybe in a little bit,” Sam felt a humorless smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.  “I haven’t gotten to the worst part yet, and I really don’t want you to smite me.”

“It gets worse?”

“Yeah.  Kinda.”

“The world ending in a fiery storm of doom and destruction?”

“Possibly.”

Gabriel brought both hands up and beckoned to Sam.  “Bring it on.”

“Umm, long story short?”

“My favorite kind.”

“Well, Metatron tricked Castiel into helping him expel all the angels from Heaven using the Angel Tablet.  Then, Abaddon showed up, and Crowley convinced Dean that they needed a weapon called the First Blade…which led Dean to taking the Mark of Cain so he could wield it.  But now…”

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and tape appeared over Sam’s mouth.  “I’m just gonna stop you there.”  He crouched down, hands digging into his own hair as he thought for a moment.  “You’re telling me the stupid Scribe made _all_ the angels fall to Earth?”

Sam nodded.

“And that a Knight of Hell is running loose?”

Sam nodded again.

“And that Dean Winchester took the _fucking_ Mark of Cain?”

Sam pulled the tape off, surprised when it didn’t hurt.  “I wasn’t there, but he seems to think it’s the only way…”

Gabriel stood, his anger returning.  “Do you even know what that thing is?”

The hunter paused.  He knew the Mark was bad, but there was fear behind the archangel’s wrath.  And that was never a good sign.  “It-it’s a brand that allows the wearer to wield the First Blade?”

Laughter rang out at his answer, and Sam shivered.  He’d heard that kind of mocking laugh tinged with hysteria from an archangel before—but never from Gabriel. 

“Oh, you ignorant little ape,” Gabriel sneered, “that’s just a side benefit—not its purpose!”

Sam just shook his head, unable to ask.  He could barely breathe.  _This was a mistake.  I should never have come here.  Cas was right,_ he thought as his mind spun wildly.

Gabriel stared at Sam, his expression softening as realized the affect he was having on the man.  “Hey,” he called gently, “Sam?  Look at me, kiddo.”

Sam tried, turning his head toward Gabriel’s voice, but there was nothing but darkness. 

“You gotta open your eyes, Sam.”

Sam obeyed, squinting at the brightness of the fire.  He didn’t remember closing them.  The flames blurred together and he blinked to clear his vision.

“That’s better,” Gabriel said, relieved.  “Now, I’m gonna explain the Mark to you without my usual dramatics, okay?”

Sam nodded, swallowing hard. 

“Okay.  The Mark is…well, it’s older than humanity.  Much older than Cain.  My-my Father made the Mark to lock away something as old as Himself—we call Her ‘the Darkness.’  And then, He gave that Mark to Lucifer, hoping that the light of the Morningstar would be strong enough to hold it.”  Gabriel scrubs at his face.  “But it corrupted Lucifer, and he passed it to Cain.”

“What?” Sam’s voice broke.  “The Mark belonged to…it’s the reason he fell?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said sadly.

“And this is the same Mark my brother wears?”

“Does it look like this?”  Gabriel drew with his fingers in the air, and gold light formed the familiar image of a three-pronged backward ‘F.’  The same exact symbol marring Dean’s forearm.  Sam nodded again.  “Then, yeah, it’s the same.”

“Oh God,” Sam muttered, lurching blindly from his chair only to vomit in the corner.  Dizziness blinded him as his whole body rebelled against the idea.  Dean wore the same Mark that turned Lucifer into the devil.  How long would he last?  How long would any of them last?  What would it turn Dean into?

As the heaving slowed into cramping, Sam heard Gabriel’s voice calling his name.  The archangel sounded so far away.  He turned from his place on the floor and saw Gabriel watching him, a worried expression on his face.  “Sam!  Please let me out of here so I can help you.”

“How?” Sam asked, crawling back towards his chair.  He slowly climbed into it, unable to muster the energy to be ashamed at his own weakness. 

“Well, for starters, I can heal you.”

“I doubt it.”  He wiped at his mouth, wincing at the taste left behind.

Gabriel frowned.  “Sam, I can bring people back from the dead.  Healing’s a lot easier.”

“I’m pretty sure this damage goes a bit past skin-and-bones level.”

“I know,” Gabriel’s head cocked to the side, “I can see the scars on your soul.  But some of this damage looks recent.  I should be able to heal that.  Then, we can talk about the rest.”

“I don’t…” Sam broke off in a coughing fit.  The trip through time seemed to be undoing Gadreel’s healing at a faster rate.  “I don’t know…if you can.  I tried to…do trials…close Hell,” he struggled to breathe. 

Gabriel stared at him blankly.  “You know something?  It’s a good thing you’re so damn cute.  Because you, Sam Winchester, are dumb as shit.”

“Hey,” Sam managed a small smile, “I object to the term ‘cute.’  But…uh…I agree…about the dumb-thing.”

“Oh, you object?”  Gabriel rolled his eyes.  “In case you missed it, this is not a courtroom.  There are no grounds for objections here.”

“I don’t know…who’d be on trial…anyway.”  His lungs slowly seemed to improve, but he still couldn’t get through whole phrases.

“So, you gonna free me before you pass out?” Gabriel asked.

Sam nodded.  It took him a minute to retrieve the bucket of sand he’d stashed, but he finally managed to put out a part of the fire.  Once the circle was broken, Gabriel disappeared. 

“No!” Sam yelled, falling to his knees.  Tears rolled down his cheeks as he stared at the place the archangel had just stood.  His lungs burned from the smoke and exertion, causing him to hack uncontrollably.  But he barely noticed over the searing certainty of his failure.

“Idiot,” a voice swore behind Sam as hands grabbed him under the arms and pulled him back. 

The world tilted and Sam was powerless to do anything but hang on for the ride.  When it stopped, he found himself laying on his back with his legs stretched out and his head settled on a lap.  Gabriel’s face appeared above him, and Sam thought he saw a halo of light shimmer around it.

“Gabriel?” he gasped, dumbfounded.

“Duh,” the archangel replied.  “I only flew two feet away, Sam.  Just enough to get my wings past the fire without searing any feathers.”

“I thought…”

“I know what you thought.  Which is why I called you an idiot.”

“Rude.”  Sam tried to scowl, but everything hurt.

Fingers pressed against his forehead, and Sam flinched away.  “Relax, kiddo.  Let me heal you enough to get you home, okay?”

“Y-You’re sending me back?!”  He felt more tears slip down the sides of his face and into his hair. 

“Oh, will you stop your fussin’?” Gabriel’s voice soothed as he wiped away the tears.  “Of course I’m sending you back.  Unless you planned on waiting around to get to your timeline again the long-way.  No?  I didn’t think so.”

“But what about…”

“We’ll talk about it when I get there.  What was the date when you left?”

“Umm,” Sam searched his memory—all the days had started blending together at some point, “I think it was around late-March 2014.  Possibly the beginning of April, I’m not really sure.”

“Way to be specific in your time-travel, Sammy!  And where did you leave from?”

“The bunker, outside Lawrence, Kansas.  It’s the geographic center of the U.S.”

“Awesome.  Now, are you gonna let me heal you before you puke your lungs up?”

Sam hesitated, hating the fear he always felt over angels touching him with their grace.  The feeling had intensified since Gadreel.  He bit his lip and stared up at Gabriel, searching for any signs of deceit. 

Gabriel stared back, his expression open and honest.  More honest than Sam had ever seen.  He finally nodded, daring to trust an archangel.

“Thank you,” Gabriel whispered, returning his fingers to Sam’s forehead. 

A rush of cool energy flowed into Sam’s body, and he sucked in a breath.  His lungs expanded fully for the first time in months—since before the trials.  The near-constant headache he’d learned to live with dissipated, leaving him feeling weightless.  Other aches melted away, and Sam floated on the sensation.  He’d forgotten what it meant to not be in pain. 

“There we go,” Gabriel’s voice drifted above him, “You just rest.  I’m got some things to take care of here, but pray to me when you wake up.  Can you remember that, Sam?”  Sam managed a slight nod.  “Good boy.  It’ll be okay.  Rest now.”

Sam sank into sleep without a word.

* * *

He awoke in stages.  Familiar voices in the distance kept whispering, but Sam couldn’t understand them.  The lack of pain made him feel disconnected from his body, but he slowly recognized that he was laying on his bed in the bunker.

Memories slammed into his mind—the time-travel spell, Broward County Mystery Spot, Gabriel.

Sam opened his eyes, half-expecting to find himself on the floor near a scorched circle.  But he really was in his room.  He blinked, and ran a hand over his face, wondering if it had all just been a dream.  Maybe the damage from the trials had reached his mind, and he’d started hallucinating again. 

But as he swung his legs off the bed, he immediately felt a difference.  No ache in his joints.  No heavy weight in his chest.  All of it was gone.

His door opened, and Sam found Castiel’s worried blue eyes staring back at him. 

“Sam!”  The angel rushed into the room.  “You’re awake!”  He made it sound like he was exclaiming a miracle.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a smile.  “What happened?”

“We were hoping you’d tell us,” a cold voice said from the hall.  Dean stood there, as still as stone, with his hands on his hips. 

“Dean!”  Sam’s mouth dropped open in surprise—he hadn’t seen his brother in a few weeks.  His eyes were drawn to the Mark, angry and red against Dean’s pale skin.  Sam felt his stomach clench, and he swallowed hard. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, glaring at the man, “go wait in the kitchen.”

“Fuck off, Cas,” Dean started to say, but Castiel waved his hand and the door slammed shut.  They heard yelling and pounding against the door, but it didn’t budge. 

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Sam,” Castiel said urgently, sitting down beside him, “what happened?”

“How long was I gone?”

“Five weeks, two days, and seventeen hours.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “Guess I wasn’t specific enough.”

“What happened?” Castiel repeated.

“I found him…”  Sam tried to remember the last few moments before he’d gone unconscious—it all seemed so dim now.

“And?” the angel pushed when he didn’t finish.

“And he told me to pray to him when I woke up.”  Sam looked wide-eyed at Castiel, who sat up straighter.

“Have you?”

“Cas, I just woke up…”

“Sam,” Castiel put his hand on the man’s shoulder, “you’ve been gone for five weeks.”

“I know, I…”

“I gave Dean the letter.”

“Oh.”  Sam’s stomach dropped.  He’d forgotten all about the letter.  No wonder Dean was trying to punch his way through the door.  “Oops,” he apologized, wincing at a muffled curse from the hall.

“Perhaps you should pray now,” Castiel suggested, “before your brother breaks the door.  Or himself.”

Nodding, Sam shut his eyes.  For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.  It had been a while since he’d felt safe praying to anyone besides Castiel. 

Had the archangel changed anything?  All of Sam’s memories seemed to be the same, but he couldn’t be sure.  He still remembered seeing Gabriel’s wings burned into the floor of the Elysian Fields Hotel.  What if he prayed and there was no response?

_Gabriel?  It’s Sam.  Sam Winchester.  You know, the idiot?_ He sighed—this was a terrible prayer already.  _Umm, I don’t know if you’re still around to hear this.  I don’t know if I changed anything by going back to see you, but this is me—praying to you._

“You’re right,” said a familiar voice that had Sam jumping to his feet, “you are an idiot.”

“Gabriel?” he whispered, not believing his eyes.  He glanced at Castiel, but the seraph was staring at the archangel as well.

“You expecting someone else?” Gabriel asked with a smirk.

Sam shook his head, too afraid to blink and lose sight of him.  “How?”

“Oh ye of little faith.”  Gabriel sauntered up to them.  He reached out and ruffled Castiel’s hair.  “Hey there, Cassie.”

“How, Gabriel?” Sam repeated.

“I told you—I’m very good at faking my death.  Especially if I’m given a two-year head start!”  Gabriel winked.  “Now, come on, you two.  We can celebrate later and I’ll regale you with my genius.  First, we gotta save the world.  Again.”  The archangel pulled his awestruck brother off the bed, and grabbed Sam’s hand.  “How surprised do you think Dean will be when we open that door?”

Sam laughed, and tightened his fingers around Gabriel’s hand.  Hope bloomed in him, making him feel giddy with the promise that he wasn’t alone.  Maybe this time they could win.  Maybe this time they could all live to tell the tale. 

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutouts to @Nathyfaith and @MonPetitTresor and @ScrolllingKingfisher for looking this over!   
> You're the BEST betas ever!!
> 
> Comments and Kudos feed this author's soul <3  
> And feel free to come be my friend on Tumblr: @theriverscribe


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